


Loss

by dridri93



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Panic Attacks, Sam Has Powers, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dridri93/pseuds/dridri93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the brothers run into a witch killing to gain power, they try to stop her. Instead, they end up in her basement; Dean wakes up with bruises and a screwed-up knee. Sam won’t acknowledge him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

> This is neither a continuation of the Tony's Welding series or my SPNJ2BB. I am working on both, in my oodles of free time in between 5 AP classes, preparation for graduation, and a softball championship.
> 
> This was written for the [Winchesters Brothers Fic Challenge](http://winchesterbrosficchallenge.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr.
> 
> Prompt: amputation, injured!brothers

Dean startled awake, hand casting for his shotgun, the witch’s parting words ringing in his ears: “If you won’t let me find power, I’ll take _yours_!”

“Sam?” he ventured, glancing around as he levered himself upright. He catalogued his aches: nothing serious. Maybe a twisted knee, a few deep bruises.

Probably from when the witch pushed him down the stairs.

He received no answer to his call, so he tried to stand. “Sam?” he yelled, eyes scanning the room. A basement, it looked like. Dark, dank, smelling of dirt and mold. Dean finally saw his brother leaning against a wall.

He had to pause and regain his equilibrium.

Sam looked like _shit_.

Dark bags hung under his eyes, showcasing the paleness of Sam’s face. Someone had cut shallow gashes into his bare chest, marking out arcane symbols. His blood had run out from the slices and painted his skin crimson.

His open eyes were the worst part. They focused on nothing, not even when Dean stumbled to approach him and crouched down at his side.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, “C’mon, Sammy, talk to me now. What happened, Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes didn’t even flicker to Dean. It was as if Dean wasn’t there. “Sammy,” Dean begged, “C’mon, please. I know you can hear me.”

Again no response. Dean almost crumbled. He hated this. _Hated this_. Sammy was hurt, maybe hurt bad, and withdrawn into himself so deep that Dean couldn’t reach him. He steeled himself. He had to get through to his little brother. Who knew when the witch would be back.

He reached out his hand to grab Sam’s shoulder.

That garnered a reaction, all right. Sam’s eyes jumped to the offending hand, still without recognition. They moved up Dean’s arm until Sam met his eyes.

Sam blinked. Dean tried to pull together a reassuring smile. “Hey, Sammy,” he soothed. “You okay in there?”

Sam blinked again, his mouth opening slightly. “D’n?” he breathed.

Dean almost fell over, pain from his knee making itself known again. “Yeah, Sammy, it’s me, it’s Dean. We’ll fix this, okay? We’ll get out of here.”

Sam stared, and then looked down. “I can’t …” he breathed. His breaths quickened as his face grew greyer than before. “I _can’t_ –”

“What, Sammy?” Dean demanded, “Hey, hey, breathe for me. Slow now. Follow me. It’s okay, we’ll fix it, whatever’s wrong. Just breathe with me Sammy, breathe, c’mon.” He pulled Sam’s hand from where it clasped with white knuckles Sam’s knee and pushed it against his chest. “You feel that? Try to match me. C’mon, breathe, Sam. We’ll fix it.”

Sam’s breathing slowed fractionally until Dean leaned back, trying to relieve some pressure from his knee. Then Sam tried to jump forward, grasp at Dean’s shirt. “ _No_!” he screamed.

Dean jumped and moved back in close. “Hey, now. Easy does it. I’m here, I’m not leaving you. I just need to get some weight off my knee, okay? I screwed it up when that witch–” Sam curled in on himself at the word. Dean got a nasty feeling deep in his gut. “Sammy? Did that bitch do something to you?”

Sam nodded, eyes downcast. “I can’t, Dean,” he whispered.

“Can’t what, Sammy? See? Hear? Feel your toes?” Dean scanned Sam’s body, looking for anything (besides the obvious sigils) wrong.

Sam slumped even more. “I can’t _feel_ you anymore.”

Dean felt his eyes widen. “You mean you lost feeling in your skin?” He tried to joke, “Well, sucks for you, man. No more happy times for little Sammy, huh?”

Sam snarled, “ _No_ , Dean.” Then he clammed up.

Dean prodded his arm. “Well, if you can feel me physically, then what the hell do you mean? You gotta give me something here, so I can help.” He wasn’t expecting a bitter chuckle as a response. “What?” he griped.

Sam kept chuckling, the sound growing more and more hysterical. “Oh God,” he gasped, “Of course this is how you find out. Of course you only learn about it when it’s _gone_.”

Dean stilled. “When _what’s_ gone, Sam?” he asked, eyes scanning his little brother.

Their eyes met. “My powers, Dean. On a given day, I can feel your … your _aura_ , I guess. As weird as that sounds. I can feel you nearby, even if I can’t see you.”

“And?”

“And now,” Sam gritted, “Now I can’t feel jack shit. It’s like the power has been … cut away. I can feel where it’s supposed to be, I can feel the _potential_ , but damn it all if I can use it.”

Dean eyed the sigils carved into Sam’s chest. “And these doodles here? Are they why?”

Sam took a second to look them over. His head tilted one way and another, eyes occasionally going out of focus as he (Dean assumed) recalled some bit of lore he’d read. To Dean, the sigils were just squiggles. Well, not quite. A six-pointed star covered most of Sam’s sternum, and a slice deeper than the rest bisected where Sam’s heart sat under his chest. But the others? Dean didn’t have a clue.

He usually left the deciphering to Sam.

Dean glanced back up to Sam when he heard a choked inhale. “What’s up, Sam?” he asked quietly.

“I know this symbol,” Sam breathed, pointing to one that took up a good chunk of his left shoulder. “And that one,” he continued, pointing to another on his right. “Shit.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s face as the other’s eyes widened and his breathing went fast again. “Hey, now, whatever it is, there’s gotta be a way to stop it. There’s gotta be some way to reverse it. Always a failsafe, Sammy, always.”

It took a while for Sam to come back, color slowly returning to his face. Dean waited patiently, releasing Sam’s face from his grip as he noticed awareness returning.

“You good?” he asked gruffly. Sam nodded. “Good. Now, what do the doodles mean?”

Sam took in a deep breath. “Well, the one on my left,” he pointed to the first one he’d identified, “Binds. It’s not a demon-binding sigil, don’t worry. But it’s close. I’m pretty sure it was meant to … to keep my powers centered in one place, so that the other sigil could take effect.” Sam pointed to the second mark. “This one drains. I’ve seen it mentioned in a few of Bobby’s texts as a way to drain the powers of a demon,” his voice broke, “drain the powers of a demon from its host. The user would create this sigil, then cut the host over their neck. It’s fatal for the host, because the cut required practically punctures their trachea. But it allowed some skilled hunters to kill demons.”

Dean shook his head. “Well, you’re not a demon, and your throat’s intact, so. Any idea as to why the witch sliced that mark into you?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, face drawn. “I know. This sigil, used with the other one, would allow someone to, theoretically, drain me of my abilities. Entirely.”

“Probably what the slice over your heart is,” Dean mused, staring at the wound in question. Sam agreed. Dean kept staring at the star. “So what’s the one on your sternum, then?”

Sam glanced down. “It’s just a mark. Something to make me scream, probably. I’m pretty sure I remember the process. She looked pretty happy when I yelled.”

Dean growled. “Pervy sadistic _bitch_.”

Sam nodded, eyes closing. “I hate not feeling you,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked

“I like knowing you’re nearby, even when I’m sleeping,” Sam whispered, “It makes me feel safe. Like you’ll protect me.”

Dean chuckled, trying to keep his eyes from misting over. “Yeah, well, just because you can’t _feel_ me – really, dude, creepy much? – doesn’t mean I’m not here. I’ll be on guard, Sammy. You just get your beauty sleep. Get that blood volume back so you don’t look so damn pasty, you hear me?”

Sam smiled as his eyelids relaxed. “Jerk,” he breathed.

Dean humphed a quiet chuckle. “Bitch,” he hummed in return, already turning to watch the stairs. He didn’t remove Sam’s hand from where it’d gripped his knee, though. (Although he thanked every deity he knew that it wasn’t his bad knee.) He had to keep watch, but if Sam needed some extra reassurance, who was he to refuse the kid?

After all, he had to watch over his brother, keep him safe from everything, even his own fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make the world go 'round.


End file.
